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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070355">Choose My Weapon and Choose My Way</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbons_Undone/pseuds/Ribbons_Undone'>Ribbons_Undone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Everybody Knows What Happens Next [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Queer as Folk (US), Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Character Development, Gags, M/M, Marijuana, Porn with Feelings, Rare Pairings, Rimming, Self-Discovery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:35:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070355</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbons_Undone/pseuds/Ribbons_Undone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian has a rare talent when it comes to showing physical affection. Dean doesn’t have to pretend that this night goes anywhere past tomorrow. He knows Brian wouldn’t let it if he wanted it to, and that’s good. That’s just what he needs.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Bruckner/Michael Novotny, Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk)/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester (mentioned), Emmett Honeycutt/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Everybody Knows What Happens Next [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872910</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Choose My Weapon and Choose My Way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here you go everyone, the gratuitous Dean/Brian porn-with-feels chapter…because I can’t write smut without depth these days. So…here—have some self-aware character development with your BDSM. XD</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>So I choose my weapon and choose my way,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>It’s easy saying nothing when there’s nothing to say.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And thinking about it every day,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And starting to notice you’re fading away…</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Choose My Weapon and Choose My Way</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean swears. Sam’s not at the motel when he gets back with the takeout and there’s no note telling him where his brother has gone. He’s just…gone, just like that. Just like—<em>no, don’t think it</em>. If he starts thinking about Sam falling into the pit with Lucifer, then he’ll start thinking about Lisa, and then Cas, and soulless Sam scaring the fucking bejesus out of him, and then his flashback to hell and—<em>aw, hell</em>. It’s too late.</p>
<p>He’s got the computer open and he’s checking the GPS on Sam’s phone before he can think about it much.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pittsburgh? What the hell is Sam doing in <em>Pittsburgh</em>?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he remembers. The last thing he said to Sam when they were leaving the city was something along the lines of <em>you should go back if you end up surviving the apocalypse.</em></p>
<p>Dean figures soulless Sam never would have thought to do so, but newly soul-stuffed Sam would.</p>
<p>He’s more than likely okay, but this is Dean, and Sam is still more than a hundred miles away from him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hops in the car and hits the road <em>hard</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is also something waiting for him in Pittsburgh. No, not something. <em>Someone</em>.</p>
<p>Dean follows the little blip of the GPS to a small flat on Liberty Ave. He parks the car momentarily and looks up at the building, trying to decide what to do. He’s pretty sure Emmett lives here and he really shouldn’t be worrying so much. If Sammy is with him then he’s okay. He’s <em>more than</em> okay.</p>
<p>Dean puts the car in drive again and keeps going.</p>
<p>He stops on a side street not too far from Woody’s and turns off the Impala. He sits in the dark quiet of his baby for a minute and just thinks.</p>
<p>Castiel has been acting strange lately—or, well, stranger than usual—and with everything that’s been going on it scares the fucking hell out of him. Things haven’t been easy. Cas has been distant, and Dean gets angry at him far more than he should. Cas seems unaffected by this and he won’t talk to Dean. He won’t tell Dean what’s going on in that fluffy angel head of his, and <em>that</em> scares Dean too. The war in heaven is getting worse and Dean’s afraid Cas is going to do something stupid. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop like it’s dangling off the fucking edge.</p>
<p>Needless to say things have been tense between them. They haven’t made any sort of commitment to one another…after the apocalypse Cas disappeared and Dean decided to keep his promise to Sam, forget about Cas and run off to be with Lisa. It hadn’t worked out, and he still feels…something, but with the war in heaven there really hasn’t been the time to sit down and have one of ‘those’ conversations, so Dean’s really not sure <em>what</em> they have at this point. They haven’t been intimate in months and Dean’s pretty much at the end of his rope with everything that’s going on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There’s a man inside Babylon who can maybe fix all of that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean gets out and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He thinks about calling Cas for a brief moment, demanding the angel tell him what he’s been up to, but pushes the notion away and keeps walking toward the cool blue lights of Babylon.</p>
<p>They hadn’t come here last time they were in town and Dean instantly regrets it because what he missed is absolutely fabulous. There are hot guys everywhere—grinding, dancing, bumping—most of them half-naked and sweaty, pants tight and packages bulging, all of them delicious. Dean’s grinning instantly and thanking Sammy for running off into the night because it’s brought him <em>here</em>, and it’s fucking wonderful.</p>
<p>He grabs a beer from the bar and hears an enthusiastic, “<em>Dean!</em>” from his left.</p>
<p>Michael is beaming at him as he makes his way over, Ben following close behind. They look good. Happy, carefree, the way lovers ought to look. Michael draws Dean into a warm hug and plants a big, sloppy wet kiss on his lips in greeting.</p>
<p>Ben goes for a hug too, and okay, Dean’s not really a hugger but it’s nice in a way, this open show of affection. The most him and Sam do is call each other dumb names. Sometimes they hug, but it’s infrequent and always awkward. Here it isn’t. Here X’s and O’s are just part of the culture.</p>
<p>“What brings you to town?” Michael asks him once the pleasantries are taken care of.</p>
<p>“Sammy ran off and eloped with Emmett,” Dean says jokingly. He takes a sip of beer and shakes his head a little.</p>
<p>“Sam? Really?” Michael says. He finds it just as hard to believe as Dean does. “I thought that was just a one-time thing.”</p>
<p>“So did I,” Dean says.</p>
<p>“How’s Cas?” Ben asks. He’s grinning, and it’s obvious to Dean why.</p>
<p>“Still trying to save everyone,” Dean replies. His smile drops though at his name, and there’s an awkward silence. Michael looks worried but Dean doesn’t feel like unloading everything onto them. “Where’s Brian?” he asks.</p>
<p>Michael rolls his eyes. “In the back room,” he says, and points. Dean nods to the two of them.</p>
<p>“It was good to see you guys,” he says.</p>
<p>“Hey! Stop by the diner tomorrow if you’re still in town,” Michael calls just as he’s moving away.</p>
<p>Dean smiles at him and nods, then makes his way to the back of the club.</p>
<p>The lights fade to a dim blue haze and the music dulls to an echoing <em>thump</em> the further back Dean goes.</p>
<p>He finds Brian up against a wall with some guy kneeling in front of him. His hands are splayed through the guy’s hair as he sucks Brian off, and Dean watches as Brian tips his head back against the wall and drops open his mouth in ecstasy. He comes with a jarring <em>“Ah, aahhh</em>,” and slumps against the wall, looking down at his trick with a self-satisfied grin.</p>
<p>“That was hot,” Dean hears him say. The trick grins up at him and gets to his feet. Brian tucks his cock back into his pants and zips up his fly. The trick leans in for a kiss and Brian laughs at him, turns his head and pushes the guy’s face away. “You don’t get that,” he tells the guy. The trick looks spurred, but his ego is barely pinched and he walks away with a prominent swagger.</p>
<p>Dean steps up to Brian’s side, leans his shoulder against the wall.</p>
<p>“But I do?” he asks in opening.</p>
<p>Brian looks up in surprise, then grins at him when he sees who it is. He rearranges himself a little and pushes off the wall.</p>
<p>“That was for a bet,” he says.</p>
<p>“If I remember right, you never finished collecting your due.”</p>
<p>Dean grins seductively at Brian, who remembers the game well and absolutely loves playing it with Dean. Dean was ‘The One Who Got Away’, which is a clear affront to his inflamed ego. This time, if Brian has anything to do with it, he’s not going anywhere. He’ll tie Dean down to the bed before he lets him slip away again.</p>
<p>“What brings you to Babylon?” Brian asks. “I thought you’d be off somewhere being touched by an angel,” Brian says. He laughs at his own bad joke.</p>
<p>Dean doesn’t want to answer that, so he answers with a question of his own.</p>
<p>“Where’s your little dash of Sunshine?”</p>
<p>“He’s off getting fingered by some <em>violinist</em>,” Brian says, scoffing. The way he says ‘violinist’ is sarcastic, cynical.</p>
<p>“So I’m not the only one having a shit time with my sex life,” Dean says.</p>
<p>“Hey, I was doing just fine before you arrived,” Brian says.</p>
<p>He turns and leans his shoulder against the wall, mirroring Dean, and tips his head to rest against the bricks.</p>
<p>“Let’s get out of here,” he says, “I’ve got a debt to collect.” He grins perversely. “With <em>interest</em>.”</p>
<p>He emphasizes the <em>t</em> in ‘interest’ that has Dean’s cock twitching in his pants.</p>
<p>“Alright hotshot, lead the way,” Dean says, grinning back at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean drives them back to Brian’s loft, and this time there aren’t any screams or murdering sex demons to interrupt them.</p>
<p>Brian’s got him up against the wooden frame of the elevator the moment they step inside, grabbing at his shirt and covering his lips hungrily. He pants hot against Dean’s open mouth and tugs off his jacket and shirt in one smooth move.</p>
<p>Then they’re out of the elevator and Brian’s walking him backward toward his apartment. He feels cold metal slammed up against his back and then Brian is pressed to him again, breath hot and lips heavy against his neck, under his jawline, at his ear.</p>
<p>“Gonna make you <em>beg</em> me to make you cum,” Brian says into his ear, and Dean gasps as a hand grips his cock through his rough denim jeans.</p>
<p>“Oh God, <em>yes</em>,” Dean exclaims, hips jerking at his touch. It’s been so fucking long. He squeezes his eyes shut, completely okay with doing it here in the hallway if that’s what Brian has in mind.</p>
<p>But it isn’t. He hears the door to the loft slide open behind him and then he’s being shoved lightly inside. The door slams shut.</p>
<p>Dean stands bare-chested and heaving in the middle of Brian’s loft. Brian’s still by the door, staring at him as he fingers the top button to his sleeveless black button-up, head cocked to the side as his liquid brown eyes slide down Dean’s chest and fall to the bulge in his pants.</p>
<p>“I would have, but I want to savor this,” Brian tells him.</p>
<p>That throws Dean for a loop. His breath catches in his confusion and he gulps down air.</p>
<p>“Uh…what?” he blurts out.</p>
<p>“Fucked you in the hallway, against the door,” Brian says, shrugging over his shoulder. “I would have done it.”</p>
<p>He grins languidly at Dean, almost childish, certainly self-satisfying. Like he knows exactly what the smile does—what <em>he</em> does to Dean.</p>
<p>It’s not really hard to tell, considering.</p>
<p>Brian fingers the buttons on his shirt again, slips the top one out, then the second, then the third. Dean’s eyes follow his fingers as they work at the small, smooth plastic, mouth open and lips wet. Brian stares at him and locks eyes with him when he looks up, keeps going—holds Dean’s gaze until every single button is free and his chest is smooth and bare for Dean to admire.</p>
<p>And holy <em>hell</em>, it’s hot.</p>
<p>“Like what you see?” Brian asks, spreading his arms wide.</p>
<p>Dean’s not an easy man though, so he gives a small shrug and makes a face that says, <em>hm, maybe</em>.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen better,” he says.</p>
<p>“Oh really?” Brian goads him. His hands move to the button on his black jeans. “Tell me <em>all about him</em>.”</p>
<p>He’s not kidding. He <em>wants</em> Dean to tell him about this ‘holier than thou’ fuck he’s supposedly had.</p>
<p>“Hot,” Dean opens, “Ten inches, easy. Smooth chest. Dimples on both cheeks, and I don’t mean the ones on your face…though he had those too.”</p>
<p>“Keep going,” Brian says. He snaps open the button to his jeans, slowly unzips the zipper.</p>
<p>“Uh. He, uh…had muscles.” Dean nods, eyes flickering down to where Brian’s now got his hands under his shorts. “Lots of muscles. But it was nice, not too much. And he had a birth mark.” Dean points to his side. “Right there. Shape of Minnesota.”</p>
<p>Brian laughs. “Hot,” he agrees.</p>
<p>He slips his jeans—shorts and all—down over his thighs and steps out of them.</p>
<p>“Well, how would you say I measure up?” he asks.</p>
<p>Dean gulps, frozen in the moment. His cock is painfully hard against the inside of his jeans and he grasps himself more out of discomfort than anything. It’s a relief as he does, and he palms himself a little through the fabric.</p>
<p>“You, uh, fall a little short but lucky for you I can make do,” Dean replies.</p>
<p>Brian laughs.</p>
<p>“Guess I have my work cut out for me then,” he says.</p>
<p>He steps up to Dean and covers his hand over the one Dean’s got around his cock. Then his lips are on Dean’s mouth and his back hits something hard—a pillar, he noticed them when he came in. Brian pushes his hand away and fights his jeans open, tugging them down around his thighs.</p>
<p>He grabs Dean by the shoulder and turns him, pressing him up against the pillar.</p>
<p>“Hands up,” Brian says.</p>
<p>Dean starts to protest—no way in <em>hell</em> he’s bottoming, but Brian tutts at him and raises his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Uh uh, to the winner goes the spoils,” he says, “in whatever way he wants. And I say…hands up. What do you say?”</p>
<p>Dean snorts a little in derision, but when he rolls his eyes a moment later there’s humor in them.</p>
<p>“Mother <em>gay I</em>?” he opts.</p>
<p>Brian laughs.</p>
<p>“Very good! You get an <em>A-plus</em>,” he replies. He pauses and gives Dean a pointed look. “Now don’t make me ask you again.”</p>
<p>With a slight frown Dean raises his hands and grips the pillar by its sides.</p>
<p>Brian’s hands run down his sides and then trail along his lower back, enticing, and it might have tickled if he wasn’t so goddamn horny.</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ, don’t just fucking stand there,” Dean says. He starts to let go, to turn around and shove up against Brian when he feels a sharp sting on his behind.</p>
<p>“Hands up,” Brian says in a calm, level voice. “I didn’t say you could let go.”</p>
<p>Dean groans—from equal parts arousal and frustration, because it’s clear how Brian wants to play this.</p>
<p>“Thought you were going to fuck me,” he complains, looking back over his shoulder.</p>
<p>Brian’s smug smile threatens to crawl off his face and over his ass.</p>
<p>“All in due time,” he says.</p>
<p>He crowds up against Dean and presses a kiss to his neck, whispers hot in his ear.</p>
<p>“I <em>did</em> say I wanted to savor this,” he says.</p>
<p>Dean shivers as his breath tickles the outer rim on his ear. Then Brian’s teeth are tugging at it and he gasps, arms trembling as they hug the pillar in front of him.</p>
<p>“If I don’t die of blue balls first,” Dean shoots back at him.</p>
<p>Another sharp slap finds his ass and Dean lets out a loud groan, hips bucking against the pillar. His ass shoves back into Brian’s hard cock and he groans again, wanting it in him.</p>
<p>Brian grips his hips and kisses his neck again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark—which Dean can feel is high enough to show over his shirt collar so he knows Brian is doing it on purpose—leaving him with a souvenir to take away with him—proof that Brian has done all he promises to.</p>
<p>A soft tug of teeth against skin to seal the mark and then Brian’s tongue is trailing down his neck. He kisses to the base of it, then brings his lips back to Dean’s ear.</p>
<p>“Spread your legs,” Brian orders softly.</p>
<p>Dean grits his teeth, white-knuckling against the pillar and does as he says. Brian leaves shortly to grab something from a tin on the corner of the kitchen counter, and when he comes back Dean hears the telltale crinkle of plastic and the soft <em>pop</em> of a bottle opening.</p>
<p>Brian runs his fingers over Dean’s hole slowly, rubbing at it and teasing it until it puckers in anticipation. Dean is breathing heavily, cheek pressed against the pillar and if he were ten years younger, he would have come all over it already. He tries to push back into Brian’s finger, but another hand gripping his hip stops him. He lets out another frustrated moan—because it’s all he can do—and tries to stem the tremors that work up his forearms.</p>
<p>“Holy God, Brian,” Dean pants, keening with want. He adjusts his grip on the pillar for the tenth time that minute, slick sweaty hands sliding along its edges.</p>
<p>He hears a crinkle and then a soft weight presses against the place Brian’s fingers were a moment ago. Brian adjusts his grip on Dean’s side and guides his dick in, hitching it up and into Dean once he’s got it.</p>
<p><em>“Ugh,”</em> Dean lets out, head tilting back so that his Adam’s apple rests against the pillar. Brian grips him in both hands this time and thrusts into him deep, hiking Dean further up the pole.</p>
<p>Dean shoves back against him, brings his head back enough to press his forehead against the pillar as Brian rides him, slow and steady to the top.</p>
<p>He holds out as long as he can before—</p>
<p>“Don’t cum,” Brian says, disrupting his orgasm. Dean pants and gulps the expectation back down, cock throbbing to be touched, to be allowed release.</p>
<p>“Brian, please,” he pants—needy, degrading—but he knows it’s the only way to get what he wants.</p>
<p>“Not yet,” Brian says again, “I’m not done with you yet.”</p>
<p>A hard thrust and then Brian is moaning into his ear, coming and shoving Dean’s swollen cock up against the pillar.</p>
<p>Dean lets out a loud cry as Brian hits just the right spot, and it’s like he’s losing his fucking soul to the devil again.</p>
<p>“J-just l-let me—” Dean pants rapidly, white streaking across the insides of his eyelids as his blood pumps in his temples.</p>
<p>Brian keeps going, keeps pounding into him. He’s panting hot in Dean’s ear, lips brushing against the inflamed rim. He reaches around to grasp Dean’s cock, and Dean all but loses it. His hands slide down the pillar and he lets his head knock back against Brian’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Brian’s still inside him, ramming into him, only now it’s joined with the quick flicks of his wrist as he jerks Dean off.</p>
<p>“C-close,” Dean pants, groaning again.</p>
<p>Brian rams him again and steps up on his tip-toes to really get it in there.</p>
<p>“Not yet,” he says in Dean’s ear.</p>
<p>Dean’s not sure he can hold on. His whole body trembles and he feels like he’s going to fly apart at the seams unless—</p>
<p>“Now.”</p>
<p>“<em>Ahhh!</em>”</p>
<p>Dean throws back his head and lets out a loud, long moan, mouth hanging open as he cums. He jerks in Brian’s fist, shooting against the pillar and no doubt adding to the collection of stains that have come before him.</p>
<p>He slumps limply against Brian, attempts to catch his breath.</p>
<p>“You can let go,” Brian says as he slides out of Dean. He grabs Dean’s hand, turns him so his back is to the pillar and looks up at him with soft brown eyes. “So?” he asks, smiling, “How was I?”</p>
<p>He’s almost shy when he asks it. Like Dean’s opinion of him matters.</p>
<p>“Hot,” Dean rasps. His eyes drop to Brian’s lips and he grins. “And you? Did I perform adequately?”</p>
<p>Brian grins at him, the perfect narcissist smile forming a ‘u’ with his lips.</p>
<p>“Best I’ve had in a while,” he replies.</p>
<p>He pushes off Dean’s chest with his own and makes his way over to the kitchen. He snaps off the used condom and drops it in the garbage, then steps up to the bar.</p>
<p>“Drink?” he offers, holding up a bottle of whiskey.</p>
<p>“Hell yes,” Dean replies.</p>
<p>He shoves off the pillar and goes to collect his reward, hiking his pants up around his ass as he does. As he grasps the glass from Brian, Dean can’t help but smirk a little.</p>
<p>“You know I <em>let</em> you win last time,” he says, taking a sip. His eyes peer over the glass and his eyebrows are raised as if to say <em>sucker.</em></p>
<p>Brian laughs.</p>
<p>“I know, moron, that’s what made it a good game,” he says. He takes a sip of whiskey, swallowing it down with a satisfied <em>“Ahh</em>.”</p>
<p>“Well, good, glad we cleared that up,” Dean says. It’s important, somehow, to establish that he <em>allowed</em> himself to be bottomed like that. Dean doesn’t roll over for just anyone. He takes another sip, agitated for some reason that’s beyond him.</p>
<p>“Stop acting like such a fucking pussy and take the compliment,” Brian says, breaking into his pissy mood. “I don’t let just anyone con me out of sixty bucks.”</p>
<p>“You remember that, huh?” Dean replies. He’s actually rather surprised. He hadn’t thought Brian gave a shit about the cash.</p>
<p>Brian snorts.</p>
<p>“I remember my balls being in a twist after the second game, wondering if you were going to let me win so I could fuck you,” Brian admits, “After the third I thought you weren’t interested and was just in it for the cash, but I thought I’d give it one more go since I’m such a <em>poor loser</em>.” He grins at Dean from over his drink. “Turns out you were just playing hard to get.”</p>
<p>“I was playing ‘get cash for food this week,’” Dean corrects him, “Besides, I couldn’t just <em>let</em> you win. Guy’s gotta eat. And I’m anything but easy.”</p>
<p>“Except on the eyes,” Brian says in mock flattery, “And my cock.” </p>
<p>Dean snorts into his drink. They have a similar sense of humor. Brian grins into his whiskey.</p>
<p>“Admit it—you <em>liked</em> not being in control for once,” Brian says a moment later.</p>
<p>“I was just being a good sport,” Dean replies quickly. “Rules of the game.” He takes a swig of whiskey and challenges Brian with his eyes to say differently.</p>
<p>Brian just laughs.</p>
<p>“Sure, whatever you say,” he says, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated flare, “But I know the truth. And truth is? You <em>loved</em> me ordering you around.”</p>
<p>“If that’s what you need to believe in order to feel good about yourself, don’t let me stop you,” Dean replies. He knocks back the rest of his drink.</p>
<p>Brian is suddenly in his face, taking the glass from him and setting it down on the counter.</p>
<p>“You loved it,” he says again, lifting his chin slightly and looking down at Dean from under thick, brown lashes, “I think you know why too. All that weight on your shoulders…must feel nice not having to carry it for a couple of minutes.”</p>
<p>Dean sputters in laughter, shaking his head. “What are you talking about, man?” he asks.</p>
<p>“I’m talking about the <em>apocalypse</em>, Dean,” Brian replies. His brows pinch together in mock concern, mouth hanging open. His head is tilted back and he still looks at Dean from under his lashes. “I’m not a moron, I figured it out.”</p>
<p>“Well, you’ll be happy to know we were able to stop that little catastrophe,” Dean says. He throws his hands up in a <em>that’s that</em> sort of way. “World saved. It’s all margaritas on the beach from here on out.”</p>
<p>“Except it isn’t,” Brian says. He’s not buying any of Dean’s bullshit, and it would be infuriating if it didn’t feel so damn <em>good</em> to be met with such unapologetic honesty.</p>
<p>“Okay, you’ve got me. Now it’s something else. World still needs saving. Cas is away fighting some big war in heaven, my brother might be losing his mind, and I’m stuck chasing down some <em>bitch</em> who calls herself Eve while trying to keep everyone glued together. But hey, at least I have job security, right?”</p>
<p>It’s a good thing Brian took his glass from him, because if it were still in his hand Dean would have slammed it down on the counter hard enough to shatter the glass.</p>
<p>Brian looks away, nonchalant, and shrugs.</p>
<p>“Well, can’t say I envy you but I can at least offer you something to take the edge off.”</p>
<p>He gestures to his dick and Dean just laughs.</p>
<p>“You think that’s what I want you’ve got somethin’ wrong with your nugget,” Dean tells him. He twirls his finger next to his ear in the classic gesture for insanity.</p>
<p>Brian just gives Dean a pointed stare.</p>
<p>“Dean, why do you think brats like you exist?” he asks. He walks forward slowly, each step a flirtation. “It’s so that power-hungry egomaniacs like yourself can finally let go and find some release.” He cocks his head to the side, “All while getting pounded into oblivion so hard they remember life’s <em>true</em> lesson.”</p>
<p>Dean rolls his eyes.</p>
<p>“Oh yeah, and what would that be?” he asks.</p>
<p>Brian is right up against him now, finger to the center of his chest.</p>
<p>“That <em>you—</em>” He taps his finger against Dean’s chest. “—don’t have <em>any</em> control in this crazy wacked-out world.” Brian laughs a little and turns away. He strides to the bar and pours them out another drink—four fingers this time.</p>
<p>“If I don’t then who does?” Dean shoots back, “God? Cuz I dunno if you noticed but he flew the coup ages ago. It’s just us mortals now.”</p>
<p>“All the more reason,” Brian says. He hands Dean his drink and raises his own glass to his lips.</p>
<p>He’s looking at Dean with this steadfast knowing, and <em>fuck</em>, he’s got Dean pegged.</p>
<p>“M-maybe some of what you’re saying is true,” Dean admits. He sucks in his breath and holds it in his chest.</p>
<p>“<em>All</em> of what I’m saying is true,” Brian argues.</p>
<p>“<em>Maybe</em> it is,” Dean insists. “Maybe I’m just tired because it feels like nobody’s got my back these days. But you’re missing a big piece to the puzzle.” He takes a breath. How the fuck does he explain this to someone who has never experienced the agony of hell? “I <em>have </em>to be in control. I just do. I don’t trust anyone enough to let go of it.”</p>
<p>Brian peers at him for a moment, then shrugs, like he doesn’t care. And he doesn’t. Dean is just one guy in a long string of men who have walked into Brian’s loft and then out again.</p>
<p>“Whatever, it was just a suggestion,” he says. He laughs, throwing up his shoulders a little. His pink tongue is visible through his smile. “Shit, and here I was looking forward to tying you to the bed.”</p>
<p>Dean’s breath hitches at that visual.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” he says.</p>
<p>Brian hums, smirking at him over his whiskey.</p>
<p>Dean considers him for a long moment, sipping slowly on his own drink. He knows Brian is right. He knows he wants it—the chance to relinquish control for a few brief minutes. The offer is enticing and sweet in a way he never expected, and he knows Brian will give him what he needs without judgment or pity.</p>
<p>Brian sets his glass down on the counter. When he looks up again his eyes are dark.</p>
<p>“What do you say, Dean? Last time was for a bet. This time it’s all you.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, alright,” Dean says, giving up the gig, “On one condition.” He looks around the loft. “Where the hell is my jacket?” he asks.</p>
<p>Brian nods to the door. Oh, right, Dean remembers. The elevator. He chides himself silently for being so reckless and goes to retrieve it.</p>
<p>Brian follows him to the door, head tilted in growing curiosity as Dean comes back with his shirt and leather jacket. He pulls something out of the inside pocket—a large silver flask—and unscrews the top.</p>
<p>“Drink this,” he says, holding the flask out to Brian.</p>
<p>“No way,” Brian says, giving him a look like he’s fucking crazy.</p>
<p>“It’s holy water,” Dean explains. He huffs and gestures with the flask. “Just <em>do</em> it.”</p>
<p>Brian gives him another look but takes the flask from him and takes a sip.</p>
<p>“Ugh, God that tastes like ass,” he says around the tepid water in his mouth.</p>
<p>Dean just laughs.</p>
<p>Brian makes a face at him and swallows, gagging as it goes down. He hands the flask back to Dean.</p>
<p>“What the hell was that for?” he asks, wiping at his mouth.</p>
<p>“Call it insurance,” Dean says. He screws the top back on the flask and stows it back in its designated pocket.</p>
<p>Brian watches him, still curious but not asking.</p>
<p>“So? Do I pass the test?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Dean replies, looking up at him. “But my safe word is ‘angel’s balls.’ Just you remember that.”</p>
<p>Brian laughs, loud and carefree.</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, I won’t be forgetting <em>that</em> one for a <em>long</em> time.”</p>
<p>He steps up close to Dean and his smile drops away.</p>
<p>“Now, take off your pants,” he says. He finishes off his whiskey and swallows, tilting his head up and letting his mouth fall open in a way that tolerates no argument.</p>
<p>Dean gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat in nervous anticipation, but he does what Brian says—he tosses his shirt and jacket over the arm of the sofa and slowly slips his jeans down his legs, kicking off his boots in the process.</p>
<p>Brian slips a hand behind his neck and pulls Dean further into the loft, toward the bedroom. When his heels nudge the steps he turns and guides Dean into the room, hand still at the base of his neck.</p>
<p>“Lay down,” he says.</p>
<p>Dean does as he’s told, crawling diagonally up the royal blue bed sheets on his stomach, ass in the air. The fabric is silky under his naked skin, a caress all in its own. Brian certainly knows how to entertain—his entire loft is designed to provide the maximum amount of pleasure. The aesthetic is <em>sex, sex, sex</em>—right down to the thread count.</p>
<p>He feels Brian’s weight when he climbs onto the bed, and then there is a long, satiny red ribbon dangling in front of Dean’s face.</p>
<p>“Hands behind your back,” Brian says, voice soft yet firm. Silky, like the sheets—like the edge of the ribbon that he trails down Dean’s back.</p>
<p>Dean takes a deep breath and crosses his wrists at the base of his spine.</p>
<p>Brian straddles his hips and takes his sweet time threading the bond around his wrists, tugging the knots tight but not so tight that Dean couldn’t slip out of them if he needed to. He’s sure Brian doesn’t know about this trick, and it helps Dean to relax into the mattress.</p>
<p>He tenses as Brian’s fingers press into the middle of his back and trail down his spine to where his hands are bound. His weight around Dean’s hips is firm, arousing, and somehow comforting all in one. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and lets his mouth drop open, lets out the breath he’s been holding since this whole thing started.</p>
<p>Brian doesn’t do anything for a long time, content to just admire the tasty piece of ass he has trussed up in his bed. His eyes slide down Dean’s prostrate form as he considers what he wants to do first. Dean is obediently silent, breathing a little erratic, but he supposes that’s from the anticipation. If he’s nervous, he’s keeping it under wraps.</p>
<p><em>Yes</em>. That’s what Brian wants. He wants to see it—that place inside of Dean that the control-freak in him keeps so carefully fortified.</p>
<p>He reaches for the top drawer in his nightstand where he keeps all his favorite toys.</p>
<p>His whole weight bears down on Dean as he slips the gag into his mouth.</p>
<p>Dean jerks, tries to struggle and lets out a muffled sentence that sounds a lot like <em>“What the fuck?</em>” before the gag is in place and he can do nothing but grunt in protest.</p>
<p>Brian has taken away his right to a safe word. He’s completely at Brian’s mercy now and he knows it. Dean thrashes suddenly, elbows reaching up as he tries to catch Brian in the ribs, but Brian’s got a hand at the base of his neck and is shoving his head sideways into the mattress.</p>
<p>“Relax,” he says shortly, “Stop being a little cunt.”</p>
<p>Dean grunts at him and it sounds like a swear, but he stops thrashing. He takes a deep breath and his green eyes flicker uncertainly up at Brian.</p>
<p>“That’s a good boy,” Brian tells him, smirking down at him.</p>
<p>He runs his hand up the short locks of Dean’s dirty-blond hair, still pressing him to the bed. Dean’s breathing heavily, looking up at him with a flicker of fear in his eyes but that’s really all he can do. It’s clear from his breathing that he’s battling against his body’s instinct to fight—to break free. Brian holds the hand on his head, waiting to see which wins out.</p>
<p>A long groan and Dean’s eyes squeeze shut briefly, open and then there’s a new kind of softness that wasn’t there before. The fight is gone. His body relaxes as he makes the conscious decision to surrender to Brian, and <em>yes</em>, it’s exactly what Brian wanted.</p>
<p>“Good boy,” Brian whispers again into his ear. Dean grunts and shifts a little under him, eyes rolling. He’s annoyed. He doesn’t like being patronized. Brian just grins at him, loving the game.</p>
<p>He drags his nails through Dean’s hair, then down his back. Dean trembles under him, gasping as Brian follows with his tongue.</p>
<p>He rims Dean until the man’s back is slick with sweat. His arms shake, wrists straining against his bonds as Brian teases his tongue up and down his spine and then lower to his ass. He spends an equally long time at the tender spot between Dean’s balls and his hole. He’s like a serpent, tongue flitting out and in and around, up and back and side-to-side. Dean is slowly losing it, letting out long moans each time Brian’s tongue makes contact with his flushed skin.</p>
<p>Brian swipes up with his tongue—one long lick up from his balls to the base of his spine, and then he reaches for the lube.</p>
<p>The amount of time he spends fingering Dean’s ass has the hunter panting around the gag, spit dripping into the expensive Egyptian sheets. They’re soaked in his sweat by now. His hair is damp and Brian knows the look—Dean’s so far gone with need that he’s not sure whether it’s pain or pleasure at this point.</p>
<p>Brian’s hard. He’s <em>been </em>hard since he started. He’s been stroking himself on and off the whole time he’s been teasing Dean, taking care of his own desire in small, selfish gestures while he watches Dean squirm under his touch. It’s only when he’s sure he’s got Dean silently begging with every nerve ending that he reaches for his stash of condoms.</p>
<p>But he wouldn’t be Brian Kinney if he didn’t ride this out to the edge. He rolls the condom on and spends a long time teasing Dean’s hole with the tip of his cock, pretending he’s going to slip it in and then slipping it under his balls at the last second.</p>
<p>Dean thrashes and groans, eyes squeezing shut. He tries to say something around the gag that sounds an awful lot like a curse word. He’s getting frustrated with Brian, and Brian can see the flicker in his eyes when he decides to do something about it.</p>
<p>Brian holds a hand down over his bound wrists and takes him before he does whatever it is he was planning on doing.</p>
<p>Dean lets out a long moan and drops his forehead to the sheets. Brian has a hand on his shoulder, another on his wrists as he rides Dean to the top.</p>
<p>Brian throws his head back and groans open-mouthed when he comes. He jerks his hips up into Dean, burying his balls deep into the firm flesh of Dean’s ass as he draws every sensation he can from the orgasm. Another thrust and then Dean is jerking under him too, crying out as he comes into the sheets tangled under his cock.</p>
<p>Dean pants and drops his forehead back to the bed, sweat trickling down the side of his face from his hairline as he goes limp under Brian. Brian pulls out of him and reaches up to remove the gag.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” is the first thing out of Dean’s mouth. He pants open-mouthed into the sheets, head turned to the side. He doesn’t seem to mind that his wrists are still bound—he’s just riding the last tingles of ecstasy before they fade away.</p>
<p>It’s this that tells Brian he did what he set out to do. He grins in clear self-satisfaction and slowly unties Dean’s wrists. When they’re free he climbs off of Dean and rolls over next to him and onto his back. His head drops to the side. Dean hasn’t moved except to allow his arms to fall heavily to the bed by his sides. His face is still pressed into the mattress and he looks at Brian with his open lips twitching up into a satisfied smirk.</p>
<p>“Okay, I’ll admit that was hot,” he says, voice husky, “But if you tell anyone what we did here tonight, I will cut off your balls.”</p>
<p>Brian just laughs at him, head back on the bed.</p>
<p>“Yeah, whatever you say, hotshot,” he says.</p>
<p>His head falls to the side again and his eyes catch on Dean’s bare shoulder. He reaches up and trails his fingers over the red burn marks on the hunter’s otherwise unblemished skin.</p>
<p>“What the hell is this?” Brian asks, “I meant to ask before but I was too busy fucking you.”</p>
<p>“It’s his mark,” Dean replies. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “Castiel. When he pulled me from hell.”</p>
<p>Brian laughs. “<em>Shit</em>, and all I gave you was a lousy hickey.” He grins at Dean and it’s so ridiculous that Dean laughs too.</p>
<p>“So you’ve been to hell?” Brian asks in the next moment, “How was that?” He’s morbidly curious.</p>
<p>Dean grunts.</p>
<p>“It was <em>hell</em>,” Dean replies, heavy on the sarcasm. Dean takes a deep breath, holds it. “Now you know why I gotta be in control.”</p>
<p>Brian chuckles a little at that, and Dean’s lips twitch into a wry yet relieved grin. He likes that Brian doesn’t take shit too seriously. It somehow makes Dean’s past easier to bear, this laughing it off.</p>
<p>Brian rolls over to the other side of the bed and opens the drawer, brings out the after-sex joint he stores in there for just such occasions. He lights it, takes a hit, and then offers it up to his bedmate.</p>
<p>Dean hesitates, then takes it. He’s not much of a smoker. He’s more of a drinker. But he’s already gone so far off the reservation tonight that he figures a couple of hits can’t hurt. He takes a long dreg and holds the smoke in his mouth before letting it out with a harsh cough.</p>
<p>“Shit,” he says, coughing again. He hacks into the sheets and it’s a minute or two before he can breathe without coughing.</p>
<p>“Amateur,” Brian teases. He takes another puff and blows it out in a smoke ring.</p>
<p>“Show off,” Dean bites back. He grabs the joint from Brian and takes another hit. This time he’s determined not to cough.</p>
<p>Dean’s not used to it and he’s high within minutes, giggling into Brian’s bare shoulder.</p>
<p>“Wow, you <em>are</em> a lightweight,” Brian laughs, turning his head to the side.</p>
<p>Dean just hums and closes his eyes. For once he feels relaxed…safe—<em>almost</em>. It’s about as close as he’s ever going to get.</p>
<p>Brian puts out the joint in the ash tray next to the bed and then rolls over, drawing Dean back against his chest. His hands goes to the center of Dean’s sternum, holding him there wordlessly. Dean lets him. He knows the gesture is meant in the moment. Brian has a rare talent when it comes to showing physical affection. It isn’t clingy or possessive at all, just comforting. He can hold Dean to his chest with a hand over his heart and then it’ll be ‘thanks for the fuck, see you whenever’ the next morning. Dean doesn’t have to pretend that this night goes anywhere past tomorrow. He knows Brian wouldn’t let it if he wanted it to, and that’s good. That’s just what he needs.</p>
<p>Dean lets his eyes slide closed, lets the feeling of Brian’s strong arms around him and the high from the weed seep into his bones and carry him off to sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dean awakes the next morning with his muscles heavy and sore in that good way that follows great sex. Brian is already up and taking a shower. Dean joins him and the glass gets a little steamier before the soap is done doing what it’s meant to do. There’s no talk about what passed between them the night before, and it’s good. It’s what Dean needs to take a measured step into the day.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He drives Brian back to his car and they meet back at the diner for a hearty breakfast, though they don’t sit together. The night is over, there’s no reason to linger. Dean says hi to Michael and Ben and goes to sit at his own table. Dean is famished by the time the food arrives. He checks his phone for any word from Sam, but there’s nothing yet so he digs in.</p>
<p>He’s made some decisions by the time breakfast is over. He sits in the booth nursing his coffee, waiting for his brother to turn up. Dean figures he’ll be a little more honest with himself from now on, maybe admit what he needs. Maybe he’ll talk to Cas today about it.</p>
<p>The bell rings and Dean looks up. It’s Sam. Emmett is right behind him. Sammy’s looking a little tired but he seems…happier than he was yesterday. He’s even smiling.</p>
<p>Dean shoves all thought of his own love life out of his mind and grins smugly up at his little brother.</p>
<p>When Sam sees him he stops in his tracks and blinks.</p>
<p>“Dean?” Sam blurts out.</p>
<p>“Morning, Sammy. How’d you sleep?” Dean asks. He jabs a thumb over to the booth to where Brian is sitting. “Cuz I gotta say, the hospitality in this town is fucking <em>fabulous</em>.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He teases Sam about his night with Em, and Sam’s so flustered that he doesn’t even think to ask about Brian. That’s good, because Dean wouldn’t have known what to say. It’s easy saying nothing. This way he gets to choose—stubborn will as his weapon, control as his way. The fact that he gave both up for the night will be their little secret.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>The End.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It took me a while to pin down how this chapter was gonna go (HA!). Dean and Brian are both such powerful alphas that it was difficult at first figuring out their dynamic. Then I remembered the bet in <i>8, 10, 12</i> and that opened things up. What flooded in is my take on Dean's unsaid need for someone else to take control while also acknowledging why that's so difficult for him. I read an article a while back about Sub!Dean and I wanted to keep true to his character while allowing for some off-road development. Hope y'all liked it. ;)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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